Elizabeth, the night of the accident
by flee the light
Summary: What Elizabeth did and felt the night of the accident that made her and Toby geniuses. Or the tip of the iceberg, anyway.


Elizabeth, the night of the accident

 _This is odd_ , Elizabeth thought to herself as she walked the short walk from school to her house. Walking home alone after dark would normally have been intimidating. But that night, she barely noticed the empty streets, blank fences and dark corners. Perhaps it was because of the headache. A dull ache had been pulsing behind her eyes even before she left the school grounds.

She had left alone, staying to tidy up after Toby and Russ had left, the last person left on school property. They had left soon after that accident, or whatever it was.

It had had some effect on Toby as well, that much she had seen. He hadn't wanted to talk to her about it, no doubt because he was with Russ. She had watched him walk out of the classroom with a dizzy, stumbling gait, touching his head at intervals.

She had wanted to be sympathetic, to be some kind of help him if he needed it, but he left so quickly. She didn't even have the chance to tell him that she wasn't feeling too good either. The headache had already started by then and already she wasn't thinking straight.

When she reached her house she realised she could scarcely remember any of the journey home. Was this some little display of bravery? No, not really. She had been oblivious to her surroundings, walking the streets in a kind of trance. _Unfeeling_. That was the word. She hissed it under her breath as she turned her front door key in the lock.

'Elizabeth?' She heard her mother's voice. She crossed the dark hallway, heading towards the light coming from the living room. She stopped in the doorway and looked inside. The living room was a blur. She recoiled dizzily, instinctively taking off her glasses. _That's odd_. The blurriness had gone. The scene of her mother sitting on the sofa watching television, a glass of white wine on the coffee table in front of her, presented itself in perfect precision. She appeared to be watching some sort of home renovation show. Even the interior of the house on the television screen was perfectly clear as the presenter ran her hand approvingly over a glimmering black stone work surface.

'Yes, it's me,' said Elizabeth in a low voice from the doorway.

'Come and watch this,' said her mother, turning round and smiling. She was still in her work clothes and her eyes were glassy, probably from the wine. The glass looked full, but maybe it was her second glass.

'I've got a headache, I'm going to go to bed,' said Elizabeth in a kind of sulky undertone.

She turned away, her apparently useless glasses still in her hand, and went quickly up the stairs.

Once inside her room, the first thing she did was to go and look in the mirror that hung on the wall next to her wardrobe. Needing to stand far enough way to test her eyesight, she was treated to a reflection of nearly all of her. _Bad posture, washed out features, no dress sense, pathetic fragile thing_. But the eyes were different. They seemed bluer, sharper, colder. They didn't deserve such a feeble face.

With a swift yank she pulled out her ponytail. Her hair dropped down lankly to her shoulders, leaving her face less exposed. She leaned a little closer to the glass and scowled. _A little better_.

Now the sensible mauve blouse had to go. She stepped away from her reflection and went to her wardrobe. She went along the rack: pastels, beiges, greys; _too sensible, too dull, too nice_. Finally she came across something with a little promise: a stretchy crimson top she couldn't remember ever wearing it apart from the day she tried it on in the shop. She had had some weird, rare flash of daring the day she bought the top. Now its time had come.

She took off the mauve blouse and cast it down on her bed. Then she pulled the crimson top over her head and then down to her waist. The feel of the fabric was unfamiliar to her. _So much the better_.

Her reflection pleased her more now, but something was missing. _Make-up, I need make-up_. But she scarcely knew how to put it on and in any case didn't own anything suitable. The throbbing in her head intensified. She massaged her temples, trying to make it stop. She should just stop all this, take a tablet and go to bed.

Then something flashed inside her head. She wasn't going to stop. Something really important was happening. Of course she knew how to put on make-up. She knew exactly the effect she wanted and how to do it. The picture was there in her head. She had complete confidence in her hands too. It would be easy.

She walked purposefully out of her room and onto the landing. She could still hear the presenter's tinny, garbled voice from the television downstairs. She crossed the landing and went into her mother's bedroom. She would find what she needed on her dressing table. Borrowing her mother's make-up: what a ridiculous thing to do. _How old am I: six_? But she had to see the look now. The end justified the means.

She opened her mother's make-up box and started pulling out the various articles she needed, discarding the rest. Soon the dressing table was strewn with brushes, mascaras, foundations and various shades of lipstick, with more dropping onto the carpet.

Locating the right shade stirred in her a kind of ruthless satisfaction. The rest of her mother's stuff vaguely disgusted her. _She has a lot of make-up. I suppose she needs it at her age_.

Once she had what she needed, she sat down on the bed and set to work. Her fingers moved quickly and dexterously. She could almost feel her brain sending the signals that dictated each tiny, precise movement in her hands. When she was finished she smirked into the mirror. _Oh yes, this is me_.

'What are you doing in here?' Elizabeth swayed around coolly at the sound of her mother's voice. She was standing in the doorway of her room.

'Experimenting,' Elizabeth replied nonchalantly.

'With my make-up?'

'Don't worry, I'll get my own from now on.'

'Will you now? And since when do you have such an interest in make-up?'

'Since now.'

Her mother came a few steps into the room, assessing Elizabeth's make-up with a strange expression on her face.

'I must say you've done a good job. Have you been practicing?'

'No, I just know how to do it.'

She answered in a deadpan voice that her mother took for sarcasm, because she pursed her lips in annoyance and put her hands on her hips.

'Don't tell me you have a boyfriend, Elizabeth, because I can't see why you would be going to all this effort otherwise.'

'I don't have a boyfriend,' Elizabeth replied, her eyes narrowing. 'I'm doing this for me.'

She got up, walked calmly past her mother and went out of the room, leaving the make-up materials strewn on the dressing table, the bed and the floor.

'Are you going to clear that up?' said her mother.

'No. I'm going to bed. I have a headache,' Elizabeth replied from the dark landing.

'What, in your clothes and with all that make-up on?'

But Elizabeth had already gone. _When did I get so good at being unpleasant_?

Her mother seemed to have been shocked into silence, so she was able to go back into her bedroom without any further interruption. She looked around at the bland décor of her room, the magnolia walls, the faded magazine cut outs, the soft toys, the horrible pink headboard on her bed. _This will have to change. I can do whatever I like to it_. She let out a nervous little laugh at the idea. It presented itself to her again, only more forcefully. _I can do anything_.

Her mobile started to ring from inside her school bag. _Maybe it's Toby, ringing to ask if I'm feeling strange too. Yes, Toby, I am_. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that it was him. He had her number after all. She had given it to him.

The conversation presented itself to her:

 _\- Elizabeth, has anything strange been happening to you this evening?_

 _\- Yes Toby, what's happening to us?_

 _\- I don't know. I keep having these ideas, like suddenly I can do anything._

 _\- Me too, Toby, that's just how I feel._

 _\- Maybe I should come over._

 _\- Yes, Toby that would be great. I'm scared._

She was a bit scared. She didn't mind admitting it to herself. She could tell Toby too. He had always treated her different from the rest. Not much, but enough for her to notice.

She crossed the room swiftly and took her mobile out of her bag: Verity. She answered in an irritable tone. No, she hadn't done the biology assignment. Well it's not due till the day after tomorrow for one thing. No, there's nothing wrong with me. Goodnight Verity.

 _Who cares about some stupid biology assignment_ , she said out loud. Her voice came out louder than she had intended. She could do the rotten assignment in five minutes. _Ok, prove it_. So she took out the assignment and sat down at her desk.

In more like three minutes it was finished. She could answer the questions almost without thinking. She glanced over at the next page in the textbook. Ridiculously easy too. In fifteen minutes she had answered every question in the book, a year's worth of study. _This is not normal_. She put down the pen and stared ahead of her, not seeing anything but her thoughts as they unfurled in front of her. _I'm not normal_. What a comforting thought.

She dropped down onto her bed and started looking for Toby's number in her mobile. _Maybe right now the same thing is happening to him_. She stretched out on her belly, looking at the illuminated display of her phone, her finger lingering over the button that would dial up the number and make the connection. But what if he sounded irritated that she was calling him? _Like I'm bothering him_. She couldn't bear it.

He had been only too happy to let that Dina girl walk all over her at school. How dare she sit in her seat in class, dismiss her like she was nothing, banishing her to go and sit somewhere else. _Her first day at this school and she acts like she owns the place_. _How could he like such a conceited bitch_? She dropped the mobile onto the bed and rolled onto her back. _No, Elizabeth, you're on your own._

She got up off the bed and went back to the mirror. Her reflection pleased her much more now. She groped in her mind for the words to describe how she felt. _It's like I've… shed my skin_. The frail, plain exterior, the reasons not to do things, were gone. _You can do anything now_.

The possibilities were endless. And everyone was going to see what she was capable of. Dina Demiris especially. Even Toby Johnson, just a little bit.


End file.
